


Sweetheart

by Immamaggot



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 15:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16432295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immamaggot/pseuds/Immamaggot
Summary: Inspire by Saturn, by Notspiderman, but you don't have to read it to understand. Also, during the revoulution, Connor helped so in the same AU as Saturn. Also, it's kinda short





	Sweetheart

Tap. Tap. Tap. Ah. The irritating sound of water dripping continuously from a faucet fills Connor’s ears with… um, what is he feeling? This spiral of thought goes through his thought processor as his hands begin to fidget, wanting to be moved. Connor’s hands move as if this movement is automatic, emitting a pleasing ‘clink’ from the metal slapping itself against his plastic skin, creating a sound that overruled the tapping sound that filled his mind with annoyance, for no particular reason. Slender fingers rub against the polished, silver quarter, moving finger to finger, never being satisfied with where it sits.

Forever moving, unless it is stopped by force. Forever moving, but why? Why is it moving in the first place? Because Connor had chose to make it move. Simple. Yet not. Who knew that most coins are 91% copper? Only few beings knew that, because the rest don’t care enough. 

Because they are incompetent and indifferent.

Connor catches the coin between two prosthetic fingers, wondering where the water noise was coming from in the first place. Connor was in a room. A cramped, metal walled room. Any noise from outside the elevator would be either incredibly muffled, or just no sound at all. Are his audio processors broken? Running self check. No, he’s perfectly fine, everything is perfect. Connor frantically searches the area for a sink, for reason, but just craving for that sound to stop. He feels fear. He’s scared. Terrified. An irrational sense of fear, filling his head with panic, the young Anderson’s breathing quickens, even though he doesn’t need to breathe. It was just a habit to breathe. Mismatched eyes fiercely cut into his artificial core, tearing out the walls. 

They taught him how to feel alive. 

How to be human. 

His now adoptive father taught him how to feel happy. But that uneasy feeling that gives you butterflies, which is classified as fear. 

Tears stream down his face he face, first tears, then hiccups, and finally huge, ugly sobs. Fear. Anxiety. Wait, why is he crying? 

He can’t be broken. 

He doesn’t want to be broken. 

Those dark eyes glared at him, pouring fear into every bit of him. "Perish, traitor."

He’s not broken, if he was, his implanted security system would have warned him.

He’s not broken. But if he were broken, how would his diagnostic check tell him?

Wet covers his cheeks rapidly, dripping down as gravity pulls everything.

"I-I'm n-not broken.."

"I c-cant't be broken."

"I-I not broken!"

"I AM NOT BROKEN...!"

He scratches at his prosthetic skin, feeling the plastic start too branch off, thirium dripping slowly, yet not as thick as the blood, you, the reader have flowing inside your veins. 

He wonders why he feels like this, irrationality rushing throughout his wiring, tabs of red, flashing, as he brushes off the constant beeping, wondering why Amanda left him. Why was he like this? Internally burning, feeling regret, understanding that he had blood on his hands, of innocent androids, no, people. 

Liquid also rushed through them, why didn’t he understand? As he stood in the corner of a ship where he didn’t belong, standing next to a box, inside of a building dull his victims, ones he hurt, and their families, yet he stood.

Connor scratched his skin, hoping that the more it breaks, the more pain he’d feel. 

He deserved to hurt, he didn’t just hurt them, he killed them. He scratched, scraped, and teared away pieces of plastic until thirium bled through his wires. 

He felt resent, yet felt at peace while rubbing the back of the silver dollar (Is it silver? I’m from Canada I have no idea, here it’s gold. Wait I think they have bills here?) that easily slid across his skin, slowly washing away the despair that always ate away at his sanity.

“Connor, I would like to speak you.” Red, puffy, tear-clouded eyes swiftly glance to the door, vision sensors meet two mismatched eyes, glaring softly yet forceful eyes pierce through Connor’s heart, tearing it up till all is left is ripped pieces of paper like the hearts that children made when they were like, 5. 

“Con, you ‘kay? Why are you standing in a corner crying?” Connor kind of doesn’t want to respond to that question, yet he answers. 

.. Standing in the corner? 

“..Nothing, I’m just being irrational.” Connor manages to blurt out, which was probably going to be called "A DUMBASS EXCUSE" by North again.

“Connor, you have to stop saying that. It’s not like your emotions are irrational, if yours are, doesn’t that also mean everybody else’s are?” 

“No, it’s not like that-” This is why he had, well a deep apperciation for Markus. Like every other android.

“Well, that there is ‘irrational.’ (why did I do air quotes? Markus, what the actual fuck was that?) You are as equal as the rest of us, and all of jericho understands that, okay sweetheart? (Why did I say sweetheart?)” 

“Okay… (PFFT HE CALLED ME SWEETHEART WHAT A SOFTIE) Markus.” “Mhm?” “You called me sweetheart.” “(Fuck, he noticed) Uh, yeah, about that-” His voice was cut off by a sweet and fluffy sound. Wait a freaking doodly fuck second right there. Did.. did Connor just giggle? 

“Pfft, sweetheart?” 

“Uhm, yeah?” 

“Never leave.”


End file.
